


Guardian

by overcastskeleton



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Action, Black Panther - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Mild Spoilers, Multi, Post-Black Panther (2018)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-03-30 03:04:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13941225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overcastskeleton/pseuds/overcastskeleton
Summary: Adaeze Amari is hired by the Wakandan Government to protect her old flame, T'Challa Udaku, while he oversees the opening of the Wakandan International Outreach Center





	1. It's Been A Long Time...

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of the fine men or beautiful women that were involved in the making of this movie, but boy do I often wish I had an M'baku to cuddle with.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!

My fingers tapped a random rhythm on the leather interior of the government car. 

Personally, I would have preferred to drive on my own, but the car and driver were waiting outside of my hotel building. And when the Wakandan government sends a car, you don’t refuse it. 

“So…” I broke the awkward silence in the car. “How was the traffic?” 

My driver, a stern looking man with dark skin, dark eyes and an overall dark demeanor, stayed eerily silent, looking ahead stoically. 

“Because, if you don’t time it right and leave too late, it can be a pain in the ass,” I continued speaking, staring out the window. “But it doesn’t seem like it was that bad, you showed up before I was even going to leave.”

He remained silent, his devoted attention on the road ahead. 

“If you’re not going to speak, can you at least turn on the radio. The silence is killing me,” I leaned back against the seat. 

His eyes met mine in the rear view mirror for the briefest of moments, as he flicked the radio on. “I don’t get paid to hold conversations, just to drive.” 

“Ironic,” I rolled my eyes as Kendrick Lamar’s voice flooded the car’s speakers. “Tell me, has his highness heard this song?” 

Apparently, my chauffeur had exceeded his word limit. 

“Right, you only get paid to drive.” I pulled out my phone and settled in for the long drive. 

**. . . . .**

A few weeks ago, while shadowing one of Tony Stark's dinner parties, I was approached by a woman dressed in traditional Wakandan garb. 

“I’m working,” I said, eyes still surveying the room. 

She chuckled. “If you knew who I was, you wouldn’t speak to me that way.” She sipped from her drink. 

“I know who you are.” I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. “I know where you’re from. But I’m on a job, and my attention is devoted to it.” 

“Five minutes of your time,” the women said. “You don’t even have to speak, just listen.”

I glanced at her curiously. “I’m listening.” 

“His highness, T’Challa and princess Shuri, will be in California, for the opening of the Wakandan International Outreach Center. The Wakandan government wants you to ensure their safety,” she said. 

“Why not enlist one of the Dora Milaje?” I asked, tapping my fingers on the railing in front of me. 

“We need someone who knows both the cultures of the United States and Wakandan,” she explained. “You know our way, you know theirs. That is something very rare and very valuable.” 

I raised an eyebrow. “So I’m a commodity? Like you’re precious vibranium.” 

She tensed up and opened her mouth to speak, but I didn’t give her the chance. 

“I don’t know what you’re looking for, but it isn’t me. And your five minutes are up.” I turned away from the railing. 

“Wait!” She called. “His highness asked for you specifically.” 

I paused and turned around. “What would T’Challa want with me?” 

“He said he would feel safer in the care of an old friend than a stranger.” 

I took a deep breath and turned around. “He said that?” 

She nodded.

"I don't come cheap." 

She smirked. "Our resources are considerable."

“Then I guess I don’t really have a choice now, do I?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “When do I start?”

**. . . . .**

The next time my silent companion spoke, the car had stopped in front of a large, beautiful building. It stuck out like a sore thumb from the surrounding dilapidated building.

“We’re here.” He climbed out of the car and held my door open for me. 

I took his outstretched hand and stepped out of the car. “What is the king of Wakanda doing in Oakland?” 

“Righting a wrong,” said a voice behind me. 

I turned around to find T’Challa standing on the sidewalk, flanked by two women. I recognized one of them as the women who approached me at the party. The other was a tall, intimidating woman dressed in armor, carrying a spear. 

“Adaeze,” T’Challa stared at me with a piercing gaze. “You look good- I mean it is good to see you again- looking so…good,” he said awkwardly.  

I made an X with my arms and bowed my head in reverence. “Your highness. The title of king suits you well.” 

T’Challa smiled, and continued to stare at me so long that the women on his right cleared her throat. 

He jumped, eyes dropping my gaze. “This is Nakia.” 

“We’ve already met.” Nakia stepped forward, offering her hand. 

I shook it. “We did. Nice to put a name to the face.” 

“This is Okoye,” T’Challa continued, “she is the general of the Dora Milaje.” 

I stuck my hand out. “Nice to meet you.” 

Okoye stared at my hand distrustfully.

“I was told the Dora Milaje would not be working this job, that’s why I’m here.” I put my hand in my back pocket, holding eye contact with Okoye. 

T’Challa stepped between us, rubbing the back of his head nervously. “Yes, well Okoye is my personal advisor. She will be with me for the duration of the trip.” 

“I look forward to working with you,” I replied cheekily. 

Nakia stepped forward. “Shuri is waiting for you in the laboratory. I will take you to her-”

“Actually, I wanted to give Miss Amari a tour of the facilities, and talk to her for a moment,” T’Challa interrupted. 

Nakia shook her head. “Shuri will not like that.” 

T’Challa shrugged. “She’ll get over it. This way.” 

I followed T’Challa up the walkway. Behind me, Okoye began to speak under her breath in Yoruba. 

“She is an outsider, Nakia-” 

“She is one of us, Okoye,” Nakia argued. 

Okoye scoffed. “She has spent so many years away, she has probably lost her heritage. Does she even remember the native tongue?” 

“She does,” I responded loudly in the same language. “I assure you, General Okoye, you have nothing to worry about. Both my heritage and my native tongue are very much intact.” I looked over my shoulder. 

T’Challa, who had managed to keep his composure during the exchange between Nakia and Okoye, broke into a smile at my comment.

Okoye huffed and walked past T’Challa and I. Nakia followed her, into the building, shooting me an apologetic glance. 

T’Challa put a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry about Okoye. She is suspicious of everyone. She’ll come around soon.” 

“Yes, because my sole purpose in life is to earn her approval,” I said, ignoring the butterflies that fluttered in my stomach at the contact. 

He chuckled, dropping his hand. “It really is good to see you again, Adaeze.” He stopped short of the doors to the building, warm, brown eyes gazing into my own.

“And you as well. It’s been a long time.” I smiled.

T’Challa’s eyebrows furrowed, like he was trying to say something, but didn’t know how. 

I decided to spare him the embarrassment. “So what about that tour you promised me?” 

He ran a hand over his face and shook his head. “You’re right.” He opened the door. “Welcome to the Wakandan International Outreach Center.” 


	2. The Last Sunset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry I did not update last week. I am the absolute worst. I got food poisoning and then fell so far behind in school work that I was literally drowning. Anyways enjoy this chapter!

**Sixteen years ago:**

I sat on the edge of the grassy cliff, fingers nervously running along the wood of the panther figurine in my hand, as I looked at the kingdom below me.

I had spent all ten years of my life nestled between these mountain ranges. I had ran through the streets since I was old enough to walk and had begged for the trinkets sold at the market since I could talk.

And now I was about to leave the only home I’d ever know, a land full of possibility and wonder, for a foreign country in which I wouldn’t even be treated as an equal.

My parents War Dogs and had been placed in the United States as a response to the attack on Wakanda by Ulysses Klaue. The rumor was that it had been an inside job.

King T’Chaka employed his best spies to find the source of the vibranium theft, and my parents were some of the best.

The sound of dead grass crunching underfoot pulled me from my thoughts. I jumped, hiding the panther figurine in the folds of my skirt.

“Did I scare you?” T’Challa asked, coming to sit beside me.

I rolled my eyes. “You wish,” I taunted.

T’Challa smiled at me nervously. “I thought I missed you. I tried to rush through my lesson, and my baba noticed. Finally he just told me to go because I was distracted.” He ran his hand through his short hair. “I guess I wasn’t exactly being subtle.”

“We won’t leave until after dark anyways.” I said quietly.

T’Challa laid back on the grass. “I wish you didn’t have to leave.”

“It wasn’t my choice.” I laid beside him.

He turned onto his side, propping his head on his arm. “Who else am I supposed to talk to now?”

“You could always talk to Shuri,” I suggested, smirking.

T’Challa groaned. “Well it’s not like she talks a lot, considering she’s only three months old.”

“How’s your mom been?” I asked, looking over at the young prince.

T’Challa shrugged. “Good. Everything is about baby Shuri.”

“I get the feeling it’ll be that way forever,” I mused.

He nodded in agreement. “Yeah she’s an attention hog.”

“Sounds like someone is a little jealous.” I picked up a handful of dry grass and threw it at T’Challa.

He sat up and brushed himself off, feigning annoyance. “I’m not jealous. I’m the future king of Wakanda.” He puffed his chest out a little.

I stared up at the clouds that lazily drifted across the blue skies. “I am going to miss you though.”

T’Challa put a hand over his heart. “I’m touched really. That means a lot coming from you.”

“I’ll take it back,” I warned.

“You can’t,” T’Challa said. “It’s your going away present.”

My attention was suddenly brought back to the wooden figurine pressed against my back. “Actually.” I sat up, holding the figurine behind my back. “I uh, I made you something.”

T’Challa raised an eyebrow. “You did?”

“Yeah,” I said, suddenly nervous. “It’s nothing big, it’s not even that good really. I-um-I made it in a rush-”

T’Challa shushed me. “Well, let’s see it.”

“Close your eyes,” I said, gripping the wood tightly behind my back.

T’Challa rolled his eyes. “Is this really necessary?”

“Yes, it is,” I insisted. “Close your eyes!”

“Alright, alright,” he grumbled, doing as I requested. “You better not push me and run.”

I sighed. “It was one time.”

“One time too many,” he snorted.

I punched his arm lightly.

“Ow,” he clutched his arm. “I wish you’d warned me that my going away present was going to be filled with such pain and misery.”

“Stop talking or I’ll punch you again,” I threatened.

“If you weren’t leaving, you’d make a great Dora Milajae warrior.” He smiled.

I took the panther from behind my back and held it out in front of me. “Shut up and open your eyes.”

T’Challa opened his eyes and stared at the small figurine in my hand. “Is that?”

“A panther.” I answered, dropping it into his hand. “My baba tried to teach me, it’s not as good as his, but it’s the thought that counts right?” I looked up at him.

T’Challa turned the panther over. “Are those my initials?”

I nodded, biting my lips. “Yeah, that’s you. Symbolically at least. Sorry it’s not that good-”

“It’s amazing.” T’Challa said, warm eyes meeting mine. “It’s perfect. I wish I had gotten you something.”

I shook my head quickly. “You don’t need to get me anything.”

“You’re going away, I may never see you again-”

“Don’t say that. Bast willing, we will meet again,” I said, grabbing his hand.

His smile dropped a little. “Bast willing, yes.” He squeezed my hand, his mouth quirking up a bit.

T’Challa’s gaze was so intense, I had to look away. “The sun is setting,” I said, turning to the west. “My last Wakandan sunset.”

“They won’t be this beautiful in America,” T’Challa said. “Probably blocked by pollution.”

I pulled my legs up to my chest and rest my head on my knees. “Baba says we’ll be living in the city. Only noise and dirty streets. No more trees or plains or mountains,” I said sadly, taking in the view one more time.

“Better make the most of the last one then.” T’Challa wrapped his arm around my shoulders and I’d be lying if I denied that butterflies erupted in my stomach.  

I leaned into his touch, trying to lock this moment in my memories forever. The feeling of his body against mine, his heartbeat against my back and his chin on my head. The seemingly surreal view of  the city bathed in swathes of purple and orange light as the sun disappeared behind the mountains. And the warm trail of tears on my cheeks, as I realized another moment like this would likely never happen again.

When the sun was gone, and the chill of night had set in, T’Challa stood and offered me his hand. “We gotta get back. My mother will kill me if I am late for supper.”

I brushed the back of my hand against my damp cheeks and let him pull me to my feet. We walked back to the outskirts of the city, where my childhood home was, hand in hand.

My parents were sitting in front of the house, talking to a few friends as they packed the rest of our belongings into the jet that would take us to America.

“There you are!” My mother, Obioma Ansari, yelled, running towards me.

I dropped T’Challa’s hand and wrapped my arms around my mother. “Sorry mother, I was with T’Challa-”

“We figured.” She put her hands on her hips and frowned at us.

I blushed, taking a step away from T’Challa. “We were just talking-”

“Watching the sunset.” T’Challa said.

“Watching the sunset and talking,” I amended.

My mother raised her eyebrows. “Either, you father and I are ready to leave. But, I’ll give you a few minutes to say goodbye first.” She squeezed my shoulder and walked back to the house.

I turned to T’Challa. “I guess I should say-”

“Don’t.” T’Challa said, taking a step towards me. “It feels more real when you say it.”

We stared at each other for a moment.

Finally, I broke the silence. “I should probably go.”

“Yeah,” T’Challa said and pulled me into a hug.

I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face into his shoulder. He leaned his head against mine and rubbed my back. Before I knew it, I was crying again.

“It’s okay Adaeze,” T’Challa whispered. “We’ll see each other again.”

I nodded. “I know, I just- I don’t want to leave.”

T’Challa pulled away. “It won’t be for forever.” He wiped my tears away with his thumb.

I smiled sadly. “I know.”

“Here.” T’Challa unclasped the necklace from around his neck. “Take this.”

I took a step back. “I can’t take your necklace.”

“Why not?” He asked, moving behind me and putting the necklace around my neck. “I can just say that I lost it, and get another one.”

My fingers ran over the vibranium pendant. “Thank you.”

“I will see you soon.” T’Challa hugged me again.

I held him tighter for a moment and pulled away, brushing my lips against his cheek. “Soon,” I agreed.

“Adaeze!” My father shouted. “It’s time to leave.”

“Go.” T’Challa said.

I glanced at him one last time before running for the jet. I sat in my chair and risked a glance at T’Challa, he was staring up at the jet, waving solemnly. I looked away and my vision blurred as hot tears once again slid down my face.

The jet sped off, leaving my country and my best friend behind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave some comments or kudos. They encourage me to write more.


	3. Like Old Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Sunday, another installment of Guardian

“I decided to start this outreach program as a response to the growing need of Wakandan influence in these downtrodden and oppressed communities.” T’Challa said as we walked down the main hallway. 

The building was beautiful, spacious and full of light. The decor was a mix of old and modern. The walls lined with art from both contemporary and old-fashioned black artists; African artifacts were on display in glass cases. 

“It is a place for all tribes, Wakandan or not, to thrive,” he said, coming to a stop in front of a wooden door at the end of one of the hallways. 

I looked around the hallway. “What made the Wakandans want to reach out after all this time?” 

“We had a rather… rude awakening to the problems of those we chose to ignore,” T’Challa said solemnly, a grimace on his face. “Here is where we plan to have the opening ceremonies.” He held the door open for me. 

I walked around the big space, making note of entrances, exits and windows. “My job seems pretty easy, there aren’t a lot of vantage points.” 

“I covered the basics.” He watched me from the corner of his eye. “Besides, my outfit will be vibranium. Any hypothetical bullets would merely ricochet.” 

I turned to him. “Vibranium outfit? Are you worried that someone will try to attack you at your dinner?” 

“One cannot be too safe.” T’Challa clasped his hands behind him back. 

I raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like well-rehearsed bullshit. If I’m going to work for you, I need to know the exact circumstances.” 

T’Challa sighed. “I’ll explain in my office. I don’t want to jinx the area.” 

“Okay,” I said skeptically. I did one last initial sweep of the room before following him out the doors. 

T’Challa led me down another maze of hallways, until we were standing in front of a pair of large metal doors. 

“I’m still moving in, don’t judge the room yet,” he said cheekily before throwing open the heavy doors. 

The inside was beautiful. Tapestries hung on the walls in-between large floor-to-ceiling windows. A giant mahogany desk sat in the middle of the room, covered in papers and folders. 

“Still moving in, huh?” I asked. 

T’Challa chuckled. “You should have seen the plans Shuri had for it.” He walked to the desk and sat on the plush chair behind it. “Please sit,” He gestured to the large chair on the other side. 

I sat, shifting uncomfortably. The situation made me think of all the time I spent in the principal’s office during my childhood. I was a fairly energetic and difficult child, my skin color didn’t do me any favors either. 

“Wakanda is not the same as when you left it.” T’Challa leaned back in his seat. 

“Sixteen years is a long time.” 

He nodded in agreement. “You wonder why I surround myself with security, wear bulletproof clothes. Well this is the story. Every country has its secrets. This is ours.”

T’Challa launched into a very detailed and complicated account of his first week as king. The entire time, he stared into my eyes, gaze unwavering, even during the difficult account of the murder of his uncle, Zhuri and Killmonger himself. 

At the end, he dropped his gaze, fidgeting with the Kimoyo beads on his wrist in a very un-regal like manner. 

I leaned forward. “So you’re concerned that the followers of this Killmonger guy will try to attack you?” 

“I had hoped that his death would deter them, it appears it has only made them angrier. The threats have increased in hostility as the date for the grand opening grows nearer.” T’Challa’s head hung low. “They don’t want our support, they want our weapons.” 

“What would they gain from attacking you?” I asked. “The heart shaped herb is burned, they don’t have another successor to the throne. Killing you won’t solve anything.” 

T’Challa shrugged. “Maybe they hope to destabilize Wakanda’s relations with other countries. Maybe they wish to paint our citizens in bad light. Over the past two years, we have told the world who we really are, I cannot imagine that a lot of countries trust us after centuries of deception.” 

“The wrong move could start a war,” I said, understanding dawning on my face. 

He nodded, finally meeting my eyes. “Whatever it is that they wish to do, we cannot let them.”

“If I had known there was a chance I might be taking a bullet for you, I would have declined.” I cracked a smile. 

The tension in the room melted as T’Challa laughed 

“You will not be in any real danger. You are only here as a precautionary measure. And-” He shifted the papers on his desk, revealing a small, crudely shaped panther figure. “Because I merely wished to see an old friend.” 

I reached across his desk and picked up the figurine. “I can’t believe you still have this.” 

T’Challa smiled bashfully. “I couldn’t forget you so easily.” 

I thought back to my final night in Wakanda, the sunset, T’Challa’s arm around my shoulders, the scent of him, spices and sweat. 

“I couldn’t forget you either.” I handed the wooden object back to him. 

Our fingers touched for the briefest of moments as the panther switched hands. The warm feeling of familiarity spread down my arm, and I shuddered inwardly. 

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” T’Challa said quietly. 

“What’s that?” I asked, leaning closer.   

I will never know what T’Challa intended to ask, because at that moment the office doors burst open suddenly, completely disturbing the serious mood. A loud, jovial laugh bounced off the four walls, frightening both T’Challa and I. I jumped to my feet, shielding T’Challa, my gun drawn and pointed at the person I had perceived as a threat. 

He was a large man, clearly standing at over six feet tall. Despite the heat, he was dressed in a suit and a large fur overcoat. His eyebrows were raised in surprise, gigantic arms lifted over his head. 

“Whoa, T’Challa, call off your beautiful warrior,” he said, lips pulled into a smirk. 

T’Challa smiled. “M’Baku, I was not expecting a visit from you today.” 

M’Baku’s eyes flitted from the gun in his face, to T’Challa’s amused eyes. “Clearly. Though I must say, I agree with the changes you’ve made to your security.” 

“Adaeze.” T’Challa walked around the desk. “This is my friend, and leader of the Jabari, M’Baku. Apparently he never learned how to knock.” 

I lowered the gun, suspiciously and slowly tucked it back into the holster in my jeans. “I’ve never seen someone from the Jabari tribe.”  

“It’s your lucky day,” M’Baku flashed a big smile. “You get to witness the best of the Jabari. I’m afraid not all Jabari men are as well bred as I am.” 

T’Challa laughed, changing his outburst into a coughing fit smoothly at the glare M’Baku sent his way. 

“Adaeze, it means daughter of the king, does it not?” M’Baku asked, extending a hand to me. 

I stared up at the tall man, my jaw set. “It does.” I replied cooly, placing my hand in his own. 

“Then I should be bowing to you.” He bowed and kissed my hand smoothly. 

T’Challa bristled visibly and stepped between us. “What are you doing here M’Baku?” He snapped. 

M’Baku raised his eyebrows at T’Challa, a faint smile on his face. He let go of my hand and raised back to his imposing height, although T’Challa did not look intimidated in the slightest. 

“I’m here to discuss the involvement of the Jabari in your opening ceremony. But if now is a bad time, I can wait-” 

“No,” T’Challa said quickly. “Adaeze and I were just finishing up.” 

I nodded, reading the sudden tension between the two men. “Shuri needs me in the lab, right?” 

“Yes. I will call Okoye to escort you.” T’Challa tapped a bead on his bracelet and a hologram image of the Dora Milajae general appeared. 

“My king,” she said. “Has M’Baku found you yet?” 

“He has.” M’Baku boomed from the couch he had just dropped into. Amazingly, the wood had supported his weight. 

T’Challa rolled his eyes. “A warning next time would be appreciated, Okoye.” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was ruining a moment,” M’Baku laughed. “I offered to come back-” 

“I need you to escort Adaeze to the science lab.” T’Challa interrupted. 

“Yes my king,” Okoye obliged, before the hologram dissolved. 

T’Challa turned to me. “Shuri has some technology for you. When she is done, I will come down to escort you out.”

Okoye appeared at the open doors. “Shuri is ready for Ms. Ansari.” 

“See you soon,” I said quietly. 

T’Challa nodded to me, bending to pick up the fallen figurine and placing it in his pocket. 

“Who’s that?” I heard M’Baku ask as I left the room. 

“Off limits.” T’Challa answered as the door slammed shut. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say that I love M'Baku. You know I had to include this beefy vegetarian.   
> Also I was thinking about writing something with M'Baku, if you have any suggestions, let me know.

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm going to be updating this story every Sunday night, so watch out for those weekly updates. 
> 
> -Comments make me very happy-


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